


Fall Asleep, I've Got You

by AriWritesStuff



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26898952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriWritesStuff/pseuds/AriWritesStuff
Summary: Based on a work of art by ceruleanmindpalace on Tumblr. Sherlock gets sick and is afraid to fall asleep. John is there to console him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Fall Asleep, I've Got You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[Art] I've got you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26918491) by [TheGracefulBlueCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGracefulBlueCat/pseuds/TheGracefulBlueCat). 



> I really enjoyed writing this, please leave kudos! And thanks for the inspiration to write after so long.

“John? Remind me what the average human body temperature is please.”  
John looked up from the essay he’d been typing at the table. “98.6 Fahrenheit, or 36.5 Celsius. Why?”  
“Oh, no reason. No reason at all.”  
Sherlock was standing in the doorway of their living room, looking disheveled. Well, more disheveled than usual in John’s eyes. Especially for the hour. It was already 10 o’ clock. Sherlock would normally be up and bouncing off the walls on caffeine or nicotine or both before 9 am. His hair was a curly mess, pajama shirt slightly askew in a twisted sort of way, face slightly flush, and he was staring at a thermometer in his hand…  
“Sherlock?”  
“Mm?”  
“What does that thermometer read?”  
“. . . .”  
“Sherlock. Tell me what it reads.” All his instincts as a doctor were at attention now. There was something off about the way Sherlock was acting and John would be having none of it.  
“...38.5 Celsius.”  
“To bed with you. Now.”  
Sherlock tossed his arms in the air, dropping the thermometer along with the motion. “Oh come on John, I feel fine! Just a bit warm and dizzy and nauseous is all. That’s hardly enough evidence to be sick. It's nothing worse than I’ve handled before.”  
“Well you didn't have a doctor as a friend before, now did you?” He closed the laptop and stood, heading to the kitchen. “Go lie down, I'm going to get you an ice pack and a warm cuppa and you're going to rest.”  
“But-”  
“The only ‘but’ I’d better hear is yours getting into bed. Doctor’s orders. Now go.”  
Sherlock sulked off to his room after that, finding no energy to start an argument about it. John prepared the tea and some medicine in the kitchen, working around the various experiments his now sick roommate had set up in there. Luckily they’d been living together long enough now that it wasn't as much of a hassle anymore. As soon as he had all of his supplies, John went to the bedroom. A quick knock, and he opened the door to the dim space..  
Sherlock had covered himself in a thin sheet and was lying face up, a sheen of sweat starting to form on his head. Now that he was paying more attention, the signs of the fever were obvious. John took a seat next to him in a random desk chair, prepping a small dose of medicine to give him with the tea.  
“Do you think you can handle some saltines? You need something to go down with this medicine.”  
“I don't want to take the medicine at all..”  
“Answer the question.”  
“Fine. Yes I can handle a few crackers.” He huffed it, annoyed.  
“Alright. Now we’re getting somewhere.”  
Sherlock sat up to take the crackers and tea, nibbling on them almost delicately. Once those were finished, John handed him the medicine. It was met with a sour face.  
“No.”  
“This isn't a game Sherlock. You're going to take this medicine. It's not even that bad once you’re done with it. It has an effect of drowsiness as well, you’ll be asleep too fast to know that it’s bad.”  
“Promise?”  
“Yes, I promise. Now take the damn medicine.”  
He finally did as asked, though not without his usual melodramatic flair of making a face before and after the fact.  
“That. Was thoroughly disgusting.”  
“Right. Now lie down so you can get to sleep. I’ve got to go make sure you didn't break the thermometer when you threw it-” He began to stand up again.  
“John wait-” Sherlock grabbed his sleeve before he could leave the bedside. They stayed frozen like that for a moment, apparently both startled at the sudden motion. It wasn't like him to be very forward with physical touch.  
“Um. Stay. Please.” His voice had grown smaller and a bit confused. More than likely the medicine already beginning to disorient him.  
John sighed, sitting back down. “Okay. I’ll stay. But just until you fall asleep.”  
“Okay.”  
They sat in silence for a little while, Sherlock slowly looking more and more drowsy. Until it seemed like he was fighting sleep.  
After 15 minutes of watching, John finally spoke up.  
“Sherlock.”  
“Mm?”  
“Why aren't you sleeping? I can see you fighting it.”  
He stared at the ceiling, seemingly trying to think up a response. John waited patiently.  
“...I’m afraid.”  
“Afraid?” That was certainly something new. “As in, afraid to sleep?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why?”  
“I'm not used to it, being sick. What if I wake up and I’m not better? Or if you’re gone? Or what if this fever is something more and I don't ever wake up?” His words were starting to slur with exhaustion, eyes struggling to stay open. But that still wasn't stopping him. John sighed again, but this time there was a fondness in it. He smiled and put his hand on Sherlock’s forehead. The skin was still burning up, but he kept it there. Said sick man turned to the feeling, trying to look up at him in mild confusion.  
“Sherlock. You can fall asleep. I’ve got you. I promise to not leave this bedside as long as I’m needed, alright? Get some rest.”  
“I...alright.” His energy had finally run out and he closed his eyes, falling asleep finally.  
John replaced his hand with a cold cloth to help with the sweating, deciding to get comfortable in the chair in order to keep his promise. As he settled in, he couldn't help still smiling to himself at the idea of comforting The Great Sherlock Holmes over something so simple as a fever. But nonetheless, it made him feel needed. He could humor the feeling a little longer.


End file.
